One Man Whorehouse
by Art3misX
Summary: Artemis requests just a little help from Butler in choosing the 'correct' Autumn Festival date. No slash.


Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Fowl, any of the characters or any of the plot lines associated with said series. They are property of the author and publisher.

**One-Man Whorehouse**

"Butler, you're trained in target analysis, correct?" Oh, is genius boy up to something again? It's been far too quiet lately. There is a pause, which I assume is Domovoi signaling the affirmative. I take the opportunity to ease my way closer to the door. "Then you would be well equipped to help me handle some personal profiling I need done?" What will it be this time? Mad genius—not Artemis, another one—who is working on creating a silent bomb, yet still goes home every night and plays Daddy? Bookish librarian quietly stealing and smuggling the latest nanobot technology? Or more fairy Folk?

"What do you need Artemis?" I manage to pick up a note of excitement in my brother's typically compliant tone. But that's only because it's my job to know him better than he does himself.

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would help me choose a date for the Autumn Festival." So much for excitement. "You don't have to do go through anything fancy, just check their basic background, previous schooling, standardized testing scores, medical records, likes and dislikes, and so forth and so on. I trust you to narrow down the choices to a few exemplary candidates, with me in mind, of course." Ah, Artemis may have developed into a debonair young gentleman, but he still had the same calculating mind underneath. He just happened to upgrade his armor in disguise, his wrestling mask, so to speak.

The odd mixture of amusement and disappointment was, to me, evident in my brother's steady voice. "Very well. Do you have an initial list?"

"Not exactly." I could just imagine Butler fighting to quirk his eyebrows; he is quite expressive when he's not on duty, which is, of course, almost never. "I've been approached by a few promising prospects, but I was caught unprepared and told them I was going away for the weekend. I hinted that I would be reachable again on Saturday around five."

"That's in five minutes. You're going to open your private, secure phone line in five minutes for who knows how long to get a few Autumn Festival date possibilities?" One wouldn't have to be his sister to hear the amusement now.

"Actually, I do believe I might have given them your phone number." Silence. Then I hear something clicking, probably Domovoi unclipping his cell phone, before plastic is heard being caught rather roughly. Strangely enough, noise evidencing another toss and another catch follow. "I was hoping you would not mind getting names and taking any messages they feel obliged to leave."

Domovoi is probably tracing the Fowl family tree back through all its many successful and significant descendants in his head in an effort not to seriously injure the current heir.

"Very well, sir. If you would excuse me to attend to this _business_." Domovoi does not use sarcasm on Artemis; no, it was reserved for those almost non-existent times when he is ticked off by Artemis. And if Domovoi was using _"sir" _in Fowl Manor that means you should start running the other way. I may be a teenage female hungry for more information, but I am first and foremost a Butler. Instinct alone motivates me to instantly begin meandering up the hallway innocently as the door to Artemis' study opens, a tad forcefully if you ask me. I can feel Domovoi's suspicious glare in my direction, but he seems too put out at the moment to pursue a line of inquiry. His feet can be heard landing slightly more roughly than their usually silent descents into the mansion's carpeted floor.

The grandfather clock down on the first floor can be heard chiming once, twice, three times, four times and then fi—the sound of the standard cell phone ring tone comes from Domovoi's general direction. I stifle my laughter as Butler's mutterings drifted up the hall to me.

"I'm a receptionist at a one-man whorehouse."


End file.
